


kingdom of ash

by apricotaeris



Series: chief of the damned [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Dark Sam Winchester, Gen, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam and his demons, Sam is not exactly sane, names taken from my angel dictionary, the princes of hell are angels who fell with lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:16:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23886574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricotaeris/pseuds/apricotaeris
Summary: “Your Majesty.” Astaroth kneels at the bottom of the steps that lead to Sam’s throne. “There’s an uprising just inside the Washington gate. I’ve sent some of the most loyal to deal with the mess, but it seems there’s something bigger going on here.”
Relationships: Sam Winchester & Original Character(s)
Series: chief of the damned [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719958
Comments: 1
Kudos: 56





	kingdom of ash

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of this story (and future works in this series), please pretend that Astaroth never existed in-show, otherwise this won't really make sense.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Sam looks up from the paperwork in his hand when he senses a demon approaching, an older one, powerful, one of the  _ princes _ .

“Astaroth.” A part of him wants to kill,  _ killkillkill _ , but Astaroth has been nothing but loyal since Sam took over, always willing to step in and help, always ready to kneel, to bow, to  _ follow _ .

“Your Majesty.” Astaroth kneels at the bottom of the steps that lead to Sam’s throne. “There’s an uprising just inside the Washington gate. I’ve sent some of the most loyal to deal with the mess, but it seems there’s something  _ bigger _ going on here.”

Sam isn’t sure why, but his servants really enjoy dressing him in white--his suit today is cream colored and pristine. Something tells him that it won’t be by the time he deals with the issue at hand.

“It sounds like I finally get to deal in some violence, then doesn’t it, Astar?” He stands, his steps silent as he descends the stairs. “Come. Maybe we should go topside after this, indulge.”

His Right Hand follows along, steps quick to keep up with his King. Astaroth has been wearing the same vessel since Sam took the throne and declared that no new meatsuits would be taken unless they were braindead or already acclimated. The body the prince wears is that of a child, and if Sam had to guess, he’d say the kid is somewhere between 8-12, but you never can be sure. When he was in high school, he’d had a classmate that was a senior but looked like he was ten years old.

The Washington gate is straining with the effort to stay shut against the horde of demons beating against it, lapping like waves against a cliff. Half of them are smoke, a portion of them have been in Hell long enough that they’ve become odd-shaped creatures with clawed feet or multiple heads or serpents’ tails. The rest are wearing humans like meatsuits and attempting to pry the doors opens until their fingers are bleeding and raw.

Sam slips his hands in his pockets and counts down as bodies start to hit the ground, eyes burnt out and flesh melting like butter.  _ Dead, they’re all dead, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men-- _

_ My reign will never end. _

When their numbers have decreased by half, he studies the survivors, looking a few in the eyes until they start to cower. Sam doesn’t know why, for sure, but after he’d taken the throne, his eyes had  _ changed _ . What used to be a kaleidoscope of colors when he looked in the mirror has become a bright red glow, reminding him of Lucifer, of all the things Sam used to run from.

He’s not afraid of what he is, and hasn’t been in a very long time.

“Who started this revolt?” he demands, pleased when the majority of his subjects cowers.  **_WHO?_ ** his mind booms, and they tremble with the weight of his command.

And  _ Hell _ if it isn’t nice that he can make his thoughts known without even opening his mouth.

One of them takes a tiny step forward, and Sam latches on without moving, dragging her forward until she’s kneeling at his feet. “Who was it, Arioch?” he hums.

She whimpers at the soft melody of his voice. It’s rare he speaks so softly. Arioch--or  _ Meg _ , as Sam had once known her--is one of Astaroth’s loyal minions. Probably who he sent to attempt to deal with the shitshow of a revolt that Sam has easily ended.

“Asmodeus,” she answers, flinching at the sound of her own voice.

The girl-not-girl really did change after watching Sam destroy her beloved Azazel.

Astaroth shifts, his anger seeming out of place in the pretty little boy he’s wearing. “Your Majesty, may I--”

“No.” Sam readjusts his tie, gesturing for Arioch to rise while he turns back toward his throne and his kingdom of ash. “Arioch, find Belphegor. The four of us are going topside.”


End file.
